


Red

by kantokraze



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Dark Comedy, Drinking, M/M, Rough Sex, Swearing, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, and then tord is a selfish asshole, but hes trying to come to terms that hes a selfish asshole, in which tom is depressed and trying to cope, lots of character development. they deserve that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-08-16 23:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16504865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kantokraze/pseuds/kantokraze
Summary: A few months after the accident, Tom no longer finds comfort in drinking away his sorrows. His thoughts are still plagued with bad memories of him.He never thought he would have to see him so soon.





	1. Chapter 1

He pressed the cold metal of the flask to his lips and swallowed. The moment he felt the familiar burn of whiskey run down his throat, he instantly felt comforted, even after the slight hiss that erupted from his mouth.

He exhaled deeply, feeling the familiar warmth of his bed engulfing him. Feeling the slight fuzziness of intoxication inching towards his mind. Anything to stop the thoughts from continuing.

Anything.

He immediately pressed the flask to his chapped lips again, swallowing twice this time before tossing the empty can across the room. He licked his lips as he let his eyes closed gradually.

"Fuck... me," he said ploddingly, feeling the words and the thoughts become slowly slurred together. "Fuck... you."

His mind was suddenly reminded of everything that he tried to forget. He could see that communist bastard's stupid smile plastered all over his face. Pretending like nothing was there. Pretending as nothing had ever happened between them. Pretending like he meant nothing to him.

"FUCK... you." He murmured louder this time, covering his face with his hands, feeling something unfamiliar dribble down his cheeks. While he was still in a lot of physical pain from the explosion, nothing seemed to mask the emotional pain that he was feeling. He could still hear that damn voice laughing. He could still hear his screams as he harpooned the fuck out of his shitty robot.

He sat up this time. A little too quickly for his liking, before staggering over to his dresser. He steadied himself on the flat surface, grasping at anything more stable than he was. He looked in the mirror now, as his eyes were spilling over with tears. He knew that. He just had gotten so used to them that there was no point wiping them away anymore.

Even after all the bed rest and daily assistance from his two remaining friends who were just down the hall, Tom still felt so empty. He was used to filling the void with a bit of alcohol, but alcohol had never left him feeling shitty before. No matter how much he drank, he couldn't shake Tord's unapologetic smile. He always knew Tord was fucked up.

Always.

They had been fucked up together, many times, but he had never realized how truly bad they were for each other. How bad he was for him. Tord had always had this habit of putting himself before others. Always. When they were together, Tom had never seen that, but now that Tord was gone-- he could see everything.

Feel everything.

He could remember the good times more than anything. He could remember the drunken nights where they would wake up together, a little bit confused, but nonetheless, happy. And how those confused, drunken nights turned into understanding, sober days. Sometimes, for Tord, it wasn't always about sex and power, but more often than not, it was. 

"I'm always gonna love you, you know that, right?" He would say, breathing softly into the crook of Tom's neck, trailing kisses softly to his chin.

But now he knew that wasn't true. He made everything very clear. Everything was so much clearer, now. Even in his drunken state. Tom could look into his own eyes and see that Tord had done horrible things to his mental state.

All the trust issues. All the fighting. All the lust. All the power-hungry nights that he just didn't understand.

Tom threw himself back onto his mattress. He wondered if the fucking bastard ever felt like this. He wondered if he ever missed him. Or thought about him. He wondered why everything needed to be kept secret, and why every dream that Tom had was a shitty memory that made him miss the asshole more.

If only he was still here, he would ask him those questions himself. He would punch him in the face, first, but he would then question him.

"I don't miss him." He muttered softly, but he knew that was a lie. He wondered if he said it out loud, it would become a reality.

"I don't love him." He slurred, louder this time. No matter how much he said that in his head or out loud, it never seemed to make him feel any better. Or believe it any more.

Tom often wondered why the brain worked like this. When you're absolutely sure something is hurting you, yet you still do it anyway? When do you know that no matter how much alcohol you consume it won't take away your pain? When you know how shitty someone is to be around, but you still miss them anyway?

... When you know how horrible it is to love someone, but you can't help but love them anyway? What the fuck is up with that.

He was getting too philosophical now. He needed another drink.

Leaving his empty flask laying on the bare carpet, he shuffled into the kitchen, pulling open a cupboard of his "special occasion" liquor. Or his, "man, I really don't want to remember this tomorrow morning," liquor. Whichever one was most fitting for the night?

He pulled a shot glass off of the counter and filled it to the brim. He immediately put it to his lips and gulped.

"God damn," he hissed, slamming the glass down on the counter. "Whatever. Fuck this." He murmured before throwing back the bottle.

Honestly, whatever. He didn't want to remember this anymore. He managed to stagger over to the couch before turning on the television. Tom shuffled through channels quickly, casually taking sips from his beverage every now and again.

"What's Rachel Ray cookin'?" He mumbled slowly, as he heard a soft knock at the door. "M'comin'." Tom said briefly before shuffling over to the door.

Knock knock.  
"Yeah, yeah, Edd, hold your horses... I'm damn drunk."

Knock, knock.  
"Hold on.. fuck off."

He unbuckled the latch and twisted the lock. "You could at least be patient while you disturb my brooding," Tom growled, before feeling a world of pain enter his head.

Before he could cry out, his vision was distorted and a bag was pulled over his head. Before he could ask what the hell was going on, he heard a familiar voice.

"Fucking... Commies.." Tom muttered before the world went dark.

-

"Wake the fuck up."

 

He didn't want to open his eyes. His head was pounding and he felt sore all over like he had been dropped from a three-story window in his apartment. He groaned and squeezed his eyes together tightly.

"I said, 'wake the fuck up.'" Tord commanded, balling his hands in a fist and striking him square in the gut.

"Oh, fuck," Tom groaned, coughing as his eyebrows furrowed from the pain. He opened his eyes slowly to reveal the elusive red leader standing before him, surrounded by his assistants.

"...Tord?" Tom breathed, "...Is that you?"

"Fuck you." Tord mouthed, as Tom finally got a good look at him. It had been months since the accident, and he could see why Tord had decided to lay low for so long.

The right side of his face was completely scorched. His pale complexion had been reduced to a dark, flesh tone with the outlines of his veins protruding. His eye was covered in an eye patch and he was scowling directly at Tom.

"You like what you fucking see?" Tord growled, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. He settled his eyes to meet Tom's, as they seemed to blaze with anger.

"Dude.. you look like Red Skull," Tom smirked, pulling at his restraints a bit. "What's up with the stretcher style restraints? I never got to know this kinky side of you, commie."

"Shut the fuck up." Tord hissed, as he nodded towards Paul. His companion nodded back as he snaked quietly towards a panel of switches and buttons. Silently, he noted how glad he was that Edd and Matt weren't here to entertain themselves with the controls.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this." Tord laughed, inching towards Tom until he could feel the heat of Tord's breath against his face. Abruptly, he grabbed the collar of his hoodie and pulled him upwards, seeming to test the restraints. Tom hissed as he felt the cold metal digging into his skin as he struggled to regain his composure.

"Never forget this," Tord smirked as he reared his fist back to meet with Tom's nose. A flash of red followed immediately. Tom swore he heard a crack as he screamed loudly, only able to press his head to the side in agony. 

Tord laughed loudly as he backed away, shaking his hand out slowly, "I never actually wanted to come back to you, but after that fine display, I just..." he went silent for a moment before motioning for his two guards to leave him. After the footsteps of his guards subsided, Tord inhaled sharply and took a step towards Tom.

“Open your eyes. I want you to see me while I explain this to you.”

Tom did not comply. He wanted all of this to be over, a bad fucking dream, a terrible nightmare. He squeezed his eyes tighter.

“Why on Earth would I do anything that you want me to do?” Tom sneered, writhing in disagreement with the whole situation.

 

“I said look at me, goddammit!” Tord commanded, not wanting to deal with this putrid display of disorderly conduct. “Tom, just fucking look at me.”

He was getting unsettled now, Tom knew. If it was more than a few words where he didn't get what he wanted, he would do one of two things: snap or change the tone of the conversation.

“Tom. Just fucking..” He screamed, grabbing his helmet off of his head and hurling it at the wall, which in turn caused Tom to flinch in confusion. He braced himself for what would happen next, knitting his brows together and clenching his fists tightly. He could only expect the--

“Just.. listen to me.”

Tom was glad he had chosen the latter of the two things.

“What on Earth could you possibly say to me to make me want to listen to you? After everything that's happened, now what do you want me to do? Go back into your loving arms? Fall back into the abyss of what a shitty relationship that we had going for us?” Tom could feel the heat rising in his cheeks now, but there was no stopping what had been pent up for these past few months. “You wanted absolutely everything to be a secret. You wanted me to be a secret. Is that supposed to make me feel.. good? And even when you want to fix things you just,” he couldn't help but laugh, now, “break my nose and kidnap me?”

Tord audibly sighed. For a moment, he could almost take that silent as regret, but with Tord, you never really knew.

“I know that I.. made some fuck ups. Here and there,” he explained, looking at Tom's unchanged expression. “Or, everywhere, rather.”

Tom just laughed.

“Okay, look-- I know I'm a shitty person. Alright? Is that what you want to hear me say? I'm the absolute SCUM of the Earth and I was the worst boyfriend I could ever be. I was jealous, and, and, horrible! I was always drunk when I wanted you and I thought that equated to love but it didn't. I ended up fucking up! Surprise, surprise! I was a shitty human being. I didn't realize that I actually cared about you. And I wanted to end that. I didn't think about your feelings, so I just assumed you didn't mind if I just--”

“Packed up and left?” Tom finished, biting back a shitty reply.

“... I did. I just.. left. I didn't think you cared that much-- I was going through my own shit and I didn't care about yours. I put myself first like I always do. I put myself first and I hurt you. I hurt you very badly and I didn't care that I did, but even after all this bullshit and learning and knowing that we aren't good for each other, because--”

“Because we're not!” Tom answered again, slamming his head against his restraints in disbelief.

“Because we're always at each other's throats, dammit!” Tord yelled in frustration, running his hands through his hair. “I know we aren't good together. I can see that. I just can't stop thinking about you. And it's physically hurting me, because I know I can't have you!”

“And you needed me to what? Reiterate that for you? Damn straight you can't have me! I'm not a fucking toy like your shitty little robot! I'm a human, damn you!”

“Of course not! I didn't need you to say that for me!” Tord sighed, “I just had an idea. I just wanted you to join me.”

Tom laughed again. Something was just so fucking funny about this guy tonight.

“What? Did you not hear me just then? You can't have me. I'm not yours. I never was yours.”

“That's not what I had in mind, Tom. I wanted you to join my army. Become my new, official, right-hand man.”

“Excuse me? Become your what? I'm not becoming your new bodyguard, or whatever the hell those idiots are. I'm not becoming your boyfriend, either, so just fucking let me go or kill me. Who cares anymore, I'm just never going to be yours.”

Tord's footsteps became closer as he fiddled with a few things in his pockets.

“That's not exactly what I had in mind either. I knew you were going to do this.” Tord said quietly, as Tom felt a gloved hand caress his cheek and trail down to his chin. He felt Tord's breath inch closer towards his face until their lips met slowly, his chapped, bloodied lips were parted as he felt a soft kiss being planted on his. Tom neither reiterated the kiss nor rejected it, he just opened his eyes and whispered, “What the fuck was that?” As Tord's smile widened.

“I just wanted to see your eyes one last time.” He whispered before he reared back and stabbed Tom directly in the eye.

Tom screamed in agony as he could only see red, and feel hot blood rush towards his face. Tord was shrieking with laughter as Tom cried out. He could hear the soft squelching of the knife piercing deep into his skull. Tord pulled the knife towards his face before slowly licking the blade, as Tom could only see the deranged smile plastered across his face.

“Why,” he managed to choke out, as Tord's smile grew wider.

“Why, you ask? Because you're going to be mine. Even if you're just a vessel, you'll still be mine. Even if you're just like my stupid fucking robot,” he smiled, as he plunged the knife into Tom's remaining eye.

.  
.  
.

He had worked so hard for this not to work. He knew that Tom had all this.. untapped potential, but he had seen the future. He was saving him. He just had to keep telling himself over and over.. “I'm doing it for you, Tom, I'm doing it for us. So that we can be together. For a long time. And we can finally be happy. Together.”

He had always wanted them to be happy together.

Tord knew that he had his flaws. He had a tendency to want things he could never have. He had a tendency to want to push the envelope on certain things, to push past the limits of people.  
He had the tendency for nightmares, to dream and think about the shitty things he had done the night before. Never able to shake the thoughts and yet, never able to seem to stop himself from being such a despicable human being.

He and Tom were a lot alike in that regard. He often wondered if Tom realized how generally similar that they were. They were both intricate, intelligent individuals. If Tom would just.. stop drinking so much, he could be such a brilliant man. He often thought about the two taking over the world together. Tom would be a loyal adversary, a strong fighter-- and he didn't even realize the tension that had been building inside of him.

Tord exhaled slowly, just enjoying the moment. His head was lying against his chest, listening to the rise and fall of his shaking breaths. He knew he could never have the real Tom, but.. this was close enough. He knew time was of the essence, at this point.

Tord straightened his back and leaned down to plant a small kiss upon Tom's bloodied lips. He ran his tongue across his own before wiping away the remainder with the back of his sleeve. This would be the last time he could say anything to him, or at least, this version of him.

“Tom 1.0.. It has been an absolute pleasure. I'll enjoy having you by my side again in the near future,” Tord smiled, as he glanced towards the door. “Paul, Patryk,” he summoned loudly, as the pair re-entered the room.

“Was it absolutely necessary to make such a mess?” Patryk asked, shuffling over to Tom with his supplies to clean and dress the wounds.

“Of course it was,” Tord mumbled, “Everything I do is absolutely necessary. Not to mention he was being very, very... difficult.” He added as he stepped over to the operations desk, pulling out a chair slowly.

“I've called for the surgeons already,” Paul stated, as he attempted to set Tom's nose, “They'll be here with the equipment shortly.. if you'd like to tend to the army while they are--”

“Absolutely not,” Tord stated, “I created this device myself and I absolutely need to know if it works. I will not be leaving this room until I am certain that To--” he stopped himself abruptly, “That the project is completed.”

“Certainly,” Paul nodded, as the doors were opened and a team of medical personnel shuffled in. The team was cloaked in white, each bearing a mask and gloves, as the head surgeon made her way over to Tord with a long stride.

“Sir, may I just say it's an absolute pleasure to be working with you,” The woman nodded, pulling her mask down past her chin. “I'll do everything I can do to ensure this operation is a success.”

“Yes, thank you,” Tord smiled softly, “I'll be watching here to ensure it as well.. I can't have my only pawn be destroyed, as this is the only person this operation is.. worth to work on.” 

“Someone important to you, I assume?” The doctor asked, as her eyes met Tord's quickly. They really were a radiant blue color.

“You could say that I suppose,” Tord nodded, as he watched each of the personnel set up their equipment. Monitors, electrodes and the like. “Someone irreplaceable is a better word for it, I think. But, I digress... Time is of the essence here,” Tord motioned, as they were beginning their final set up for the surgery.

“Yes, of course..” She nodded, “This really is an excellent piece of tech. I look forward to seeing the finished product.”

And with that, she slipped the mask back over her face and turned. Paul and Patryk approached Tord silently with the helmet clutched tightly in Paul's hands.

“Thank you,” Tord said silently, placing the helmet on the table with a small clatter. “You are dismissed for the evening.”

The pair nodded without a sound as they left, and Tord could only hear the soft beeps of monitors and quiet chatter of the staff.

The tech that had been created specifically for Tom had taken more than a few years to enhance and finalize. Although Tom was to have the final part implanted within him, nearly thirty soldiers had made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the complete perfection of the headset and brain chip. Tord had seen what the future had to hold, and in seeing that, he knew what would happen would be inevitable:

Tom would develop primary intraocular lymphoma: a type of cancer that would slowly develop in the retina of the eye. Eight out of ten times people with this would contact it in both eyes, and it almost always meant the loss of eyesight; although Tom wouldn't have understood it now, he would have thanked him later.

Or, more that Tord had thanked his future self for coming back into the past to tell him exactly what would happen. He just didn't know his future self would be such a damn mess. Tord was known for his lack of empathy, so it was a complete surprise, as well as utter disbelief that this whimpering sight of a man would approach Tord and state he was a Tord from the future.

A future from where everything had gone wrong. That Tom had lost the battle against his PIOL and passed away after a short-lived battle; if only it had been caught soon enough! The future self sputtered. If only you could save him-- he cried before Tord shot him dead. He declared him a phony and a loser as Paul and Patryk disposed of his corpse, but shortly after that, he could never really shake the feeling of disbelief that his future self had come back just to tell him that he would lose Tom too soon.

But Tord knew that future self wasn't phony, but most certainly was a loser. Because going back in time to tell himself Tom would die is something that he would do, too.

So he developed something big. He developed a headset that would connect directly into the optical lobe and would allow Tom to see everything, even after his eyes would have to be forcibly removed. He had spent years developing the concept and the design, something simple yet “cool” enough to meet Tom's minimalistic standards. Something that would allow him to be able to fight easily and not be easily removed. Although it was bulkier than he would have liked, he decided that the final design was the best one he could come up with.

The chip implant was a different story. He wanted to be able to be “loved” by Tom. Even if that love was forcibly implanted in his brain. Really, was it so much to want to be followed unquestionably by someone? For someone to be able to do everything at your beck and call? For them to smile and laugh when you wanted them to? For them to want to genuinely be around you? To be fucked whenever you wanted by them with none of the extra sappy bullshit?

He didn't think so. So he developed this.. chip implant to be placed near the hypothalamus. It would merely plant suggestions in his mind that would be triggered by Tord's every word. His emotions, his libido.. would all be controlled by this little chip.

Tord really was a fucking genius, he had to give himself credit there. He smiled as he glanced towards the operating table, and saw the doctors working tirelessly to work towards his perfect weapon.

“Ah, Tom.” He sighed lowly, “Soon we'll be together again. And you'll see me in a much better light this time.” Tord nodded to himself, as he glanced in the sheen of his helmet to gaze at his reflection. Sadly, there was no fixing his face, although grafts had been an option for him. He decided, for now, he had more things to focus on than aesthetics. Even though he had never noticed before what Tom had called him.

“Red Skull”? Did he say?

That's sort of.. badass.

He smirked and stood up silently, waltzing over to the doctors, who seemed eager to explain their positions to him as they continued their work, but honestly... Tord was only noticing the intricacies of Tom's skull. Or, better said, the insides of Tom's skull. Each and every nerve ending and tissue seemed so close to perfection, although you could definitely see the onset of cancer in his affected blood.

“--you can notice it only under a microscope in the white blood cells, you see, they have a tendency to--”

Tord nodded, pretending to listen. He could see the onset of the headset was growing near, now that the cancerous pieces of his Tom were being removed, including what was left of his eyes, being slightly messy and gouged out. He glanced over to the tray where they lie, studying them. He knew Tom had often joked about his mother being a bowling ball and his father being a pineapple, but his eyes really did intrigue him.

He had always wondered if the black coloration had been a film over his eye or perhaps a defect with pupil dilation, such as aniridia. Perhaps the Euclid 8 ball hyphema? But as it would seem, all the pieces of Thomas’ eyeballs looked.. completely black. He was such a medical mystery and it excited Tord. He could almost tremble with excitement for the outcome of his new project.

He glanced back over to the operating table, where they were now adjusting nerves and wires into the headset, which was absolutely exciting. He couldn't wait to see if the eye motion feature worked. He had to test that bit on quite a few willing and unwilling soldiers before he was certain that it would work properly.

There was a quiet noise that sounded like television static for a split second before the lights on the headset slowly lit up. The doctors seemed excited for a moment before they continued to work on the tightenings and pinching of certain cords. They slowly began to sell their product. Using sutures, stitches and the like. Tom's nose was even set back into place now and bandaged.

That part may have not been a part of the plan, but nonetheless, Thomas certainly knew how to press Tord's buttons.

“I.. I think we may be done here.” The surgeon exclaimed, placing her tools onto the tray nearest to her. She pulled her bloodied gloves off of her hands and flung them onto the tray, pulling down her gloves excitedly. “Sir, thank you for allowing us to be a part of this experiment. While the bandages on his eyes must remain on for a few weeks at most, the nose set can be removed in about a week's time. We shall be back for a full assessment of his first few updates in about a month's time. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to have Paul or Patryk call me.” The surgeon beamed, as Tord shook her hand quickly.

“Certainly. Thanks for all of your help.” Tord answered as he glanced over at Tom's unmoving body, gently tracing his fingers over his hand, “My team will handle the cleanup. I'll page for Paul and Patryk shortly. Dismissed.”

The surgeons nodded silently and filed out of the room, as Tord leaned down to unfasten his restraints. He slid his hand under the table and silently tapped the four digit code, as each of the cuffs popped off abruptly. Tord grabbed Thomas’ hand silently and pressed it to his lips, unsure yet excited about the future.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, calling Patryk with an immediate answer. 

“Patryk, call for clean-up crew and bring Paul down to move Thomas into the private room. And do it quickly. I have a business I must attend to.”

.  
.  
.

It had been nearly a month since Tom had been released from bed rest and his bandage had been removed. And his eyes worked beautifully. He could see in high definition and even could use the zoom function properly. Tom could read a book from nearly two hundred feet away and it was an absolute astonishment. He had worked better than Tord could have ever hoped. He was an absolute adversary to the red army and had made himself indispensable.

“Tom, what's the status of the fleet nearing the English channel?” Tord asked, taking a few notes down on his personal journal.

“All fourteen ships are locked and loaded. They have approximately four weeks of food and water left and are awaiting command as we speak.” Tom stated, gazing out of the office window.

“Have I told you how absolutely ravishing you look in red?” Tord exclaimed, turning his chair to stand and grab at Thomas’ waist. He smiled silently and left a trail of kisses on the back of his neck.

“Exactly fourteen times you've stated that,” Tom answered, turning his head to allow Tord to do as he pleased.

“I love that memory of yours,” Tord sighed, before returning to his notes. “Any response from the British parliament?”

“Absolutely none.”

“Not even a squeal from the queen?”

“They've remained completely silent.”

“Ah, so we aren't a threat, yet, are we? Command ship 6 and 7 to set their nuclear weapons to target. Set launch time for 24 hours exactly.”

Tom glanced down at his tablet and began to type quickly, swiping a few places to the left before glancing back to meet Tord's gaze.

“Completed,” Tom stated, placing the tablet on Tord's desk gently.

“Well, everything is a lot more simple now that you're here, Thomas. It's almost as if it all means so much more now!” Tord laughed maniacally. “What's next on the agenda?”

“You haven't given me an agenda. Am I supposed to have an agenda?” He questioned, as his eyes narrowed.

“No, I just meant it figuratively-- as in, what do you want to do next for today?” Tord asked.

“Oh,” Tom nodded slowly. “I'll do whatever you tell me to do.” He stated with a small smile.

Tord slumped a little bit. He hadn't really given much thought to all this, hell, he hadn't even really explained to anyone that his.. new “weapon” or “experiment” was his partner? Whether that be figurative or otherwise, he hadn't put much thought into the subject if it arose.

“Say, Tom,”

“Yes?”

“If someone were to ask you what you were to me, what would you reply?” Tord questioned, straightening a few papers scattered at his desk.

“What would you want me to say?”

“I don't know, that's why I asked you. What would you say if someone asked you right now?” Tord reiterated, a little louder this time.

“I would probably look to you for guidance. I don't want to misspeak.” Tom stated quietly, adjusting his vision slightly.

“Look, I just want a straightforward answer. What would you say if someone asked you right now?”

“Well, considering you are always at my side I would look to you for an explanation.”

“Figuratively, Thomas, dammit.” Tord clenched his fists. “What would you say if I weren't near you at that moment?”

“Why wouldn't you be? It's my job to be near you at all times.” Tom answered again.

Tord pushed his hands on the desk before standing and slamming Tom into the nearest wall. He grabbed his tie and inched closer to his face, “Are you really trying to piss me off right now?” He fumed, socking Tom in the gut.

“My apologies,” Tom choked a bit, before regaining his composure. “That was not my intention.”

“Of course not,” Tord said, taking a few steps back. This was not the same as Tom. He was different now and, likewise, had different mannerisms. Tord had yet to learn that and instead allowed his anger to take advantage of him. If he wasn't such an asshole, he would almost apologize.

“If anyone asks,” Tord commanded quietly, “You're my first in command. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Of course, sir,” Tom stated as he let out a hiss of pain.

“That seriously didn't hurt you, did it?” Tord questioned. He took a step toward his companion with his arm extended.

“I don't know,” Tom stated, “My body wasn't entirely in pristine condition when I was restarted. It just didn't feel good, that's all. I am fine.” He said, straightening his back.

“Good,” Tord nodded, turning back towards the door. “I suppose I should be making my rounds of the training grounds now, so... follow suit,” 

“Certainly,” Tom answered, holding open the door.

The campus was rather large: a multi-function facility that spanned over ten acres in the rural countryside of Norway. The army had regrouped and slowly grown over the years, although every army had its own unique downfalls. In the main building there was where Tord resided, the captain's and general's sleeping quarters, along with a few spare rooms for business ventures and meeting rooms, which were all connected with tunnels through various buildings and facilities including the dining hall and the medical center; however, it managed to get more complex as the training and soldiers quarters were introduced, as they were split into multiple groups and subsections in order to make roll call and line ups easier. After Tord had taken a brief break after his accident, he had returned to near chaos, but quickly regained his strength and pressed those who undermined him to the ground. Or shot them. He didn't quite remember which one.

As he passed the halls, he silently nodded as those who he passed stood briefly at attention before falling silent. And that was just the way Tord liked it. Complete and utter silence and respect.

He stepped out of the corridor to the main plaza of the grounds. A simple ground where soldiers mostly chatted after a hard day of training. Tord passed them by with Tom silently at his heels, as a hush silently fell over the camp. It wasn't every day that Tord made his rounds like this. In fact, it had been quite some time since he had seen his army so close and personal. Most of the time he was a few stories ahead of them, gazing over the tops of their helmets and producing a glorified speech of how they would soon conquer the United Kingdom.

“Thomas,” Tord stated, not breaking his gaze from his path, “It's been a while since I've done this,” he stated quietly.

“I'm aware,” Tom nodded back, adjusting the gun holster at his hip, “You've been busy these past few months.”

“Yet I can't shake this feeling of wanting to do something to.. what's the term? Show them who's boss,” Tord chuckled silently, stopping in his tracks before twisting his heels in the dirt, “Give me your gun.”

Tom complied, sliding it out of the holster and slowly placing it into Tord's hand. Tord fiddled with the cold metal before cocking the gun in a single, expert swipe.

Tord's senses were heightened. All eyes remained on him as he closed his eye. He heard a slight scuffle of a boot to his slight right. With no time to think, he immediately turned and blasted the soldier square in the eye. The man who was adjusting his boot on one leg let out a shriek of terror and agony as Tord laughed loudly, throwing the gun back over his shoulder.

“Headshot,” he muttered, continuing on his way as Tom placed the gun back in his holster and followed. Tord did this a few more times. It was his version of clean up, he supposed. Assuring that he was the dominant personality in the commander's seat. Making sure all fear remained on him.

He was such a badass.

After the rounds were completed, Tord and Tom headed back to their chambers for the night, which included a small journal entry for Tord and a shower for Tom. The pair had shared a room since Tom's arrival at the campus, as Tord couldn't stand his project being anywhere else. Recovery was hard for Tom, as he had to adjust to not being able to do things quite as he remembered. Instead of showers, he would have to clean himself bit by bit, in fear of getting his hardware fried. Tord noted that, in theory, the headset was waterproof. He just wanted to take no chances until absolutely necessary, which Tom was perfectly fine with.

Tord had stripped down for the night and was now lounging in his boxers and a t-shirt, awaiting Tom's presence, who was still taking his time in the bathroom.

Tord huffed, “Thomas, are you almost done in there? You're taking forever,” Tord called out, biting his lip.

“Yeah,” Tom emerged, drying his hair with a towel. He stood with his hip cocked in his boxers, eyeing him curiously. “It's not a Wednesday,” Tom questioned.

“Who cares what day it is, Thomas? I know I like schedules and you like finding the patterns but damn, I just want to fuck sometimes.”

“Sometimes.. not on a Wednesday?”

“Would you cut that shit out. You're pissing me off. Get your ass over here.”

Tom nodded in compliance, sitting down on the bed. Tord wrapped his arms around his neck, sucking roughly against the skin. Tom squirmed underneath him, grabbing his ass forcibly, before knocking him off of him and pinning him to the mattress. He dug his knee into his crotch and began to grind slowly, trailing kisses from Tord's neck before pulling at his T-shirt with his teeth.

Tord moaned softly as he pushed against Tom's knee with a bounce. Tom pulled Tord's shirt over his head with a swift movement before biting softly against his chest, sucking at the skin tenderly.

Tord sighed audibly, before flipping him roughly, “Thomas, on a Wednesday this would be fine, but this is not a Wednesday,” he growled, pushing Tom against the bed. He roughly pushed his tongue into his mouth and began to bite his lip with glee. Tom's eyes widened in surprise as Tord's hand slipped down into his boxers, gripping his dick tightly, caressing from the tip to the shaft in a swift motion.

Tom gasped loudly, moving quickly to attempt to cover his mouth before Tord quickly grabbed his wrist and pinned it against the sheets.

None of that shit. Tord pulled the hand out of Tom's boxers and quickly spat into his hand. He began to caress the shaft briefly before pulling his hand over his tip quickly. He repeated this process a few times before Tom's squirming from the dryness of his hand became unbearable.

“Flip over,” Tord hissed into his ear, as Tom complied with no words. Tord yanked his boxers down past his knees as Tom sank into a doggy style position. He quickly sucked his fingers before pushing a few past Tom's entrance, with no remorse for his thoughts. He heard a hiss escape Tom's mouth as he began to quickly thrust and pull at his entrance, stretching and feeling around as the soft gasps from Tom's mouth began to fill the room. Tord laughed before slathering some spit on to his dick and thrusting it deeply into Tom. He cried out in pain, but Tord continued in his endeavors. He bucked his hips wildly, grabbing Tom's hips giddily, digging his nails into his sides.

“Holy shit, Thomas,” he growled as Tom coughed loudly, “You're so god damn tight!” He laughed, before reaching around to jack him off a bit. Tom couldn't help but let out a few pain filled gasps, as he bit his lips for reassurance. Tord's motions continued as he felt the throbbing of Tom's dick against his hand, even as hot cum spewed over his dry fingers. Tord laughed again, grabbing at Tom's sides for leverage as he slammed his hips against Tom's body a few final times, before spasming to finish.

He stopped for a minute, catching his breath, and wiped his hair and the sweat from his face, “God damn,” he breathed, pulling out of Tom slowly, as Tom's body slowly fell limp against the bed with slow, shaky breaths.

“I know you're not used to bottoming with me but,” Tord sighed, climbing over his partner's body and laying against the pillows, “You sure are good at it,” he sighed, as he felt Tom's body spasm a few more times.

“Are you still orgasming? Was it that good?” Tord laughed out loud, slapping Tom's back gently, but that emitted no response.

“Tom? What the fuck? Look at me?” He asked, sitting up on the bed now, attempting to glance at his face.

“Thomas? Look at me. Don't fuck around. This isn't fucking funny.” Tord stated, attempting to help him up.

Tom sat up quietly, glancing over at Tord.

“What the fuck?” Tord asked, grabbing at his face, “What the hell's wrong? Are you crying? You don't even have tear ducts. Why are you so pale?” He wiped away a bit of blood from his lips with his thumb. He would have mentioned that, but it's pretty natural for there to be a little blood when they fuck.

“I'm... I'm not sure. Something just didn't feel exactly right,” Tom said quietly, visibly shaking, “I'm sorry, I just wanted to please you.” 

Tord was honestly astonished.

“You didn't do anything wrong, hell-- I'm not even sure what I did wrong. What was it? Did something that I did make you.. uncomfortable?” Tord questioned, caressing him slightly.

“I don't know. I can't really feel emotions like I used to.. I don't really remember what even happened just now,” Tom answered, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Really? I--”

Fucking god. All of a sudden Tord remembered why. He sat there, frozen for a second before furrowing his brows. He had implanted this chip in his brain-- and now Tom didn't even know how to feel about his own trauma.

God dammit. He really fucked up this time.

“Oh, fuck,” Tord sighed, putting his head in his hands. “I didn't mean to--”

“I apologize,” Tom answered quickly, his shaky hands moving to comfort Tord, “It won't happen again, I'm so sorry, I--”

“No, Tom,” Tord shook his head softly, grabbing his hands, and rubbing them gently. “You didn't fuck up this time, okay? I did. And it's something I don't know if I can fix, and for once, in my shitty life, I'm sorry. I just took advantage of something you told me a long time ago and I used you for my own personal gain just now. And I didn't even think twice about it.” Tord sighed loudly and stood up. He grabbed Tom's boxers and T-shirt from the ground and handed them to him.

“It's okay if you want to cover up right now.” Tord mumbled softly, as he watched him fumble the shirt in his trembling hands, “let me help.” He said just above a whisper, as he helped the man get dressed quickly and quietly. He threw the cum stained top sheet onto the ground and shuffled down into the covers.

“Come here,” Tord mumbled, as Tom gently pushed in towards Tord's arms. He grabbed him tightly, inhaling his scent deeply. Tord mumbled soft words of comfort and pulled him in tightly, as he felt Tom's body begin to relax as the time ticked by.

“Thomas.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm gonna fix everything.”

“Fix what?”

And he held him tightly for the last time.

“I'm going to fix everything.”


	2. Crimson

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that, right?”

Patryk’s feet shuffled awkwardly against the grain on the crimson carpet. His eyes shot back and forth between Paul’s grimace and Tord’s unwavering, angered gaze.

“I mean, seriously. We went through all this trouble just to get him-- and that’s not even including the money that was involved, hundreds of thousands of dollars just thrown down the drain if you just let him go. You know that, don’t you?”

Tord turned in his chair and bit the inside of his cheek, “I fucking know that, Paul. I don’t need you telling me anything. I know exactly what I’m doing,” he snapped, furrowing his brows. “And besides, it still wouldn’t be a waste. I was a part of the project inside and out. And while they do cost money, the research we’ve done will last for a lifetime. I can find another pawn, no problem. Hell, maybe if I hear any more bullshit spew out of your mouth I’ll turn your brain inside out.”

Paul clenched a shaking fist to his side, “You know I support you, Tord, I always will. But regardless, it will still be a waste of time. You want to kill him and throw him out? Fine. But that’s not what you’re saying here. You want to do this whole bullshit catch and release deal? It’s a waste of time and a waste of money. There’s absolutely no point in operating on him again. I guarantee our scientific team will laugh in your face as soon as you propose this.”

“I’m getting sick of you. Shut your fucking mouth before I get really fucking angry,” Tord spat, drumming his robotic fingers against the grain of the wooden desk. Patryk bit his lip quietly as his boots continued to awkwardly shuffle against the carpet.

“You know, Tord,” he entered the conversation softly, taking a few short strides towards his desk, “You have gotten… softer. Since you’ve been around him, I mean. I know that your relationship is meant to be a bit of a secret-- but it’s not hard to tell that you have a genuine soft spot for the guy.” Patryk leaned against the desk awkwardly, trying to walk the fine line between pissing off Tord so badly that he throws him into next week and between trying to comfort him in his time of apparent loss, “It might not be so bad to just-- get rid of him. Permanently, I mean. He’s your greatest weakness and your greatest pleasure all in one, you know?” He tried his best to reach over to comfort him, but he could tell he had used up Tord’s patience.

“Get the fuck out,” Tord ordered, slamming his fist into the oak desk, feeling the splinters poke and prod into his skin as the wood warped around his shaking fist, “This conversation is over. Leave me to think.”

Patryk’s brows furrowed deeply as he nodded, “We’re just a phone call away, you know,” he mentioned quietly, as he turned his back on the red leader. Paul sighed audibly as his partner pulled the door open, turning back one last time to see Tord’s angered expression and glistening eye.

The door locked with a click and Tord finally relaxed into his seat. He took a deep breath and rested his head on his robotic hand. While he was very tired of being ridiculed by Paul and Patryk, as well as appreciated their thoughts on the matter, he had already made up his mind weeks ago. Seeing someone like that-- rather, seeing Thomas like that pained him in a way he could not bear to think of. He hated his way of thinking sometimes, but that really was not going to stop him from doing things of that manner in the future.

Just not to-- him. It was probably a mistake bringing him here, regardless. A selfish wish clouded in personal desire-- something he wanted so badly but he could never have. In this regard, Tord was the Icarus who was flying dangerously close to the sun, his sun-- Thomas. And he was simply the shell of the man who he used to be. No bark, no bite. Usually, this was the way Tord liked to handle his pets, but when it was him, it was different.

He liked to blame it on the fact that they had history, that maybe his past thoughts and actions were trying to push their way towards the front row, to try and grasp the familiar concept of what a normal human is supposed to do, what exactly they’re supposed to act like..? But he wasn’t like that anymore.  
He was a bad person. That wasn’t hard to tell. Tord was a ruthless ruler with an iron fist: he didn’t care about anyone’s life, not even his own. He was cool and calculated, yet reckless and angry all at the same time. He struck fear into those who he kept in his army, and very few people could become close enough to learn to trust him. He had only ever needed a few people in his entourage, this was true from as long as he could remember. Even when he was a kid he never trusted people openly.

Maybe that was why--

A soft knocking came from the other side of the door, interrupting him from his thought process. He straightened his back and turned his chair to gain a clear view of the door.

“You know the password, Thomas,” He answered clearly, “You can skip the formalities.”

Tom pushed the door open and closed it softly. He approached the desk with an air of confidence, although it was very much programmed at this point. His broad shoulders, proud stature, and stride were almost irresistible to him, even now. He moved without a sound, almost gliding across the carpet with the smallest smile on his face.

“You finished a bit early today, huh?” Tord asked, reaching up to grasp his hand. Tom nodded, intertwining their fingers gently. He really was a much softer person when he was not drunk, although he was intoxicated nearly eighty-five percent of the time.. in the past, at least. Tord sighed, audibly to Thomas, his robotic fingers ran cold against the warmth of his hand. Thomas tilted his head downwards to his partner and motioned towards the desk with his free hand.

“Bad day?” He asked quietly, quickly throwing a glance back towards Tord.

“You could say that.” The man grumbled, pulling his hand back into a fist, “I just hate people telling me what to do. I just need to.. Figure it out on my own. You know?” The Nord huffed, taking a glance at his splintered desk, with a tinge of annoyance.

“Your desk can be replaced, easily,” Thomas noted, knocking on the cheap wood with good intentions. “Let me see your hand, though.” He cocked his brow slightly, upturning his palm.

Tord grunted slightly, thrusting his hand at him. It wasn’t bad, and Thomas knew that. He just liked to be fussy at Tord sometimes-- and he was the only person he would allow to touch him in that caring manner. 

Thomas’ fingers delicately traced over his knuckles, pinpointing every scrape and splinter. He let out a soft sigh, dropping his hand gently.  
“Do you want to sit back down for a bit? I can tend to your self-inflicted wounds better that way.” He prompted, although the slight playfulness in his voice was difficult to catch, Tord couldn’t help but smirk for a moment.

“That’s really not necessary, Thomas.” Tord answered, sitting back into his chair, “It’s just a scratch anyway. Even if the desk is ruined.”

“Your actions contradict your words, sir.” He questioned, tilting his head slightly. “Even though you’ve said you don’t want me to tend to them, you’ve decided to sit regardless. I’m unsure of—“

“Right, right. I get it.” Tord mumbled, blowing his hair from his face. “Yeah, just tend to them, then. You know where the shit is.” Tord said this as nonchalantly as he could muster, but it was no surprise to Thomas that he quite liked the attention. It was something he had learned to understand in his last update, after all.

He worked quickly, opening the cabinet against the wall to find the basic first aid kit. Tom kneeled next to his chair, taking his outstretched hand and cautiously applying the alcohol pad to clean his wound. Tord watched him carefully, wondering why he liked this, anyway. He wondered why he liked seeing Tom sitting here, on his knees, almost as if he was a king. A red king amongst an entire kingdom, in which the only one that he truly cared for was his knight. This knight who was programmed to do his every bidding without question. Tord was unsure why he liked that idea so much, although he said nothing as Tom continued to pull each and every splinter from his knuckles. He considered slapping his hand away from him dramatically and screaming, “Ouch! That hurt!” But that would have been just as boring.

This Tom.. was boring. He just wasn’t the same. He knew deep down that if he did just that, his little dramatic flare-up, Tom would apologize. He would apologize and ask him if he wanted to stop. He missed the Tom that would have done something outlandish. The Tom that, if Tord chose to pull his hand away, he would have screamed at him to stop being a little bitch, because he was almost done with the splinters. The Tom that would have reprimanded him for losing his temper and punching his desk in the first place.

He really missed that Tom.

“I’m finished. Does that feel any better?” He asked, gently checking over his work. His hand was now clean and bandaged. Tord turned his palm to look at it, pulling his hand in front of him. He clenched his fist, just barely looking past to glance over at his partner.

“Thanks.” He said quietly, turning his chair to face the window. At this point in time.. he was unsure what to say. Tord had to make a big decision, but it was almost as if his mind was screaming at him to make the smart move. But his heart wanted to keep him here.

But neither of them would be happy with either of the decisions that had to be made. He blinked a few times, overlooking the camp from his room. The people walking back and forth between stations, just doing their daily activities. These people that he didn’t care for. He wondered if they ever looked up and saw him. Sitting in his chair, with his shadow just over his shoulder, keeping watch.

“You remember nothing. We programmed you to be that way.” Tord said slowly, watching the people pass. “I wish you could remember some of it, though. And tell me how Tom really felt.”

“I am sorry to say that I cannot do that.” He heard Thomas say back. Which is exactly what he thought he would say. Tord just nodded, sighing softly. 

“The one thing I can do is ask you for advice, though.” He stated, looking back towards his bandaged hand. “What if.. you purposefully hurt the person that you so desperately loved just so you could be together? You stripped them down, ruined everything that they were, everything that they believed in.. everything that made them.. who they were. And destroyed it? Just for your own personal gain?” He mumbled, barely audible. “But then, you regretted it. What would you do?” Tord asked, turning his chair around to face him.

“I cannot say for certain.” Thomas stared back, his program blinking a few times. “I guess I would just do what feels correct to do. Whatever is best for that person.”

“Whatever is best.” Tord scoffed, clenching his fists. “That’s hard to do when you’re as narcissistic as I am. I only do shit for me.” He laughed, trying to hide his feelings. He had never felt this way before, not about anyone else. Tord had only ever considered putting his feelings and future before everyone else. Hell, that was what had started this entire mess, anyway. 

But doing what was best for Tom? That certainly meant that he would have to leave. Leave everything behind that he wanted. He would have to stop being a selfish piece of shit and let go of the past, to let go of this person that he had never stopped loving for all of his stupid fucking life—

Before he knew it, his arms were wrapped around him. Tord’s legs had moved without warning and he had pushed himself into Tom, enveloping himself around him. He could feel something unfamiliar dribble down his cheeks as his thoughts became more and more incoherent.

He felt Tom hold him back, just as tightly as he was. His fingers grazed across his back lightly as Tord buried his face into his chest. He just didn’t want to let go yet. He was so tired of being alone. His entire life he had been alone. A social outcast, a fucking freak, a manic person. His entire life, he had felt absolutely nothing.

.  
.  
.

Enter: Tom.

He never once felt pity for Tord, nor the things he had gone through as a child. He had the balls to stand up to him, yet he had the compassion to put up with him. He was one of the most interesting people that he had ever met. They would sit in their high school parking lot after class, just chatting in Tom’s Oldsmobile. 

“..My parents abandoned me to a Catholic Orphanage, run completely by nuns.” Tord would explain, taking a drag of a cigarette.

“Oh, yeah? My mom’s a bowling ball and my dad is a melon.” Tom would scoff, stealing the cigarette from his between his lips.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He would laugh, giving him a confused glance.

“You tell me.” Tom would tease, puffing smoke in his face playfully.

He was just as intriguing as he was handsome. He had that oddly chiseled, rugged look. Like the planning sketches of a grand painting… sunken eyes and hair that absolutely reeked of hair gel, but for some reason, he liked it that way. They would do this often, sit in the parking lot and smoke, sometimes drink. The pair of them would sit and enjoy each other’s company, not talking about anything of substance. Just banter. Banter and sex. And that was how they liked it.

One second he would be talking about how much he hated chemistry, the next he would be ripping his clothes off. His lips would be on his and his hands would be around his neck, and they would intertwine their bodies together in the backseat of a shitty car. Not caring if anyone came and saw. Not caring about anyone else in this entire world. It was just them.

It was only him.

He saw the way Tom looked at him when he was done, though. The way that they looked at each other. Whether they had been fighting or having sex, the outcome was the same. Tom would give him this gaze he had never really seen before. Not in his adopted parents, not in his friends, not even in his other hook-ups. It confused him.

But it excited him all the same. When Tom’s hands combed through his hair, upturning Tord’s jaw to give him a soft kiss— that was what confused him the most. He wondered if that was what love actually felt like. That burning sensation in his chest when he laid eyes on him. His want, no— his need to have his hands on him at all times. The feeling of wanting to know everything about him at all times.. where he was, what he was doing, and with who. That feeling was… love, wasn’t it?

He loved Tom, didn’t he?

That must have been why... as he snapped back into reality, feeling these hands cup his face. Gentle fingers wiping tears from his eye, and caressing him. It confused him, he had done something so horrible and Tom should hate him like Tom normally would, but… 

Thomas... didn’t.  
Thomas couldn’t.  
He wasn’t programmed to do that.

Tord closed his eye, sinking into the floor, as Thomas followed suit. He was mumbling words of comfort and concern that he didn’t understand. He didn’t know if he wanted to understand, anyway. It would have probably hurt him twice as much.

He couldn’t do anything but wrap his arms back around him and cry. He was scared to let this go. He was scared to let Tom go. The once fearless red leader was now reduced to a heap, sobbing into his partner’s chest. This weakness would be the death of him, and he knew it. He felt Thomas grip him tightly.

The pair of them sat in silence— one sobbing uncontrollably about the one he had already lost, one gripping onto the only thing he knew how to care for. Both of them equally confused. Neither of them knowing what love actually was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while, huh? I apologize for that. I think I have most of the story planned out now, though.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed some angsty boys just trying to figure out their feelings. Thanks for reading & please leave some feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> if you read this and you possibly would be interested in seeing a continuation just lmk
> 
> I crave that good old validation even if it's just "pls"


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